


Spice

by ShadPhenix



Series: CoachSugar [2]
Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Coach Negan (Walking Dead), F/M, Friends to Lovers, Humor, Playboy Negan, Romance, Teacher Negan (Walking Dead)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-24
Updated: 2021-01-31
Packaged: 2021-03-10 07:22:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,373
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27699595
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShadPhenix/pseuds/ShadPhenix
Summary: Negan wouldn’t consider himself a skirt-chaser; it’s what’s under the skirts that he likes to devote his time to. But lately, he’s been finding himself fascinated by a certain Home Ec teacher, who refuses to take his advances seriously.The requested companion-piece to Sugar, from Negan’s perspective.
Relationships: Negan (Walking Dead)/Original Female Character(s), Negan (Walking Dead)/You
Series: CoachSugar [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2025769
Comments: 28
Kudos: 51





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [asaviorswolf](https://archiveofourown.org/users/asaviorswolf/gifts), [JDMsNegan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/JDMsNegan/gifts), [Seralis05](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Seralis05/gifts).



> You don't have to read Sugar to follow this, but it would probably help. Hope you enjoy. This is also a gift for my roommate, who continues to encourage me.

“And whatever you do,” Sally the cafeteria manager said, “stay away from Negan.”

“Who?” asked the other woman. Negan didn't recognize her and assumed she must be one of the new hires. She looked good from behind. 

The first Monday morning after summer was always a motherfucker, but today he was already drained. Probably had something to do with the eager to please coffee slinger--Nicki, or was it Noelle? Whatever the fuck her name was, she was hot as Hell and always hopped up on java. It had only taken him three mornings stopping in for her to finally invite him into the supply room today. As soon as they had finished fumbling around in the dark (she swore it was a real fucking turn on, and judging by how wet she'd been, she wasn't lying), she tried to lock him down as her date to a cousin's wedding--an honest to God wedding. What the fuck? He'd flown out of there like a bat out of Hell with his fly still unzipped and booked it to work.

Now all he wanted was a cup of the free sludge that passed for coffee at faculty-staff meetings, but the gossipers were blocking the coffee table. 

“Negan's the track coach,” Sally told the other woman. “He's a total man-whore. A real smooth-talker too. You can't trust a word he says.”

He was pretty sure his proposal to Sally of, “Let's fuck after the game,” had been about as clear and noncommittal as possible. But she'd been holding a grudge against him ever since they'd fucked last spring. Now, he wasn't even allowed in the cafeteria except for mandatory meetings like the one they had today. Worked out though. His players were always eager to grab him an extra tray or share something their mamas had made extra special for him. He hadn't paid for a school lunch since April.

“He can't be that bad,” the new gal said.

“Oh trust me,” Negan cut in, taking a step closer, “he is.”

Sally turned and glared. “Speak of the devil.”

“And I appear.” He met the eyes of the other woman and winked. “I'm Negan.”

She let out an awkward little laugh and then turned to face him fully as she told him her name. She had a tray full of cookies in her hands and smiled up at him. Not one of those little polite smiles that most new gals wore or one of the sultry grins that the principal's assistant had been throwing him all summer, but a full on smile that twinkled in her eyes, like she hadn't just been warned off him. She looked like one of those women who married her high school sweetheart the day they graduated college together. Negan checked her hand. No ring. Color him surprised.

“Would you like a cookie?”

“This some new shit we're doing this year? Hazing the newcomers by making ‘em serve us?” he asked Sally, “'Cause if so,” he looked back at--fuck he’d forgot her name already, “I got a few services that I think a gal like you would really enjoy performing.”

She blinked for a moment and then snorted her way into a laugh. It was cute. “You're a real handful, huh?”

“You bet I am,” he swaggered closer.

She rolled her eyes at him, but he noticed she was still giving him that sweet smile. Everything about her was sweet. From the sweet curve of her ass, which he'd admired earlier, to the warmth in her eyes, to the flour smeared on the bottom of her top. She caught him looking and tried to brush it out with her hand while juggling the cookies.

Sally blew out a loud breath and then walked off. 

Negan swiped a cookie and shoved it in his mouth. Chocolate chip: his favorite. He didn't know how the Hell the thing was still warm, but the chips were the slightest bit melted, leaving chocolate on his fingertips. He couldn't remember the last time he'd had fresh-baked anything. “Holy shit,” he said around the food, “what the fuck is in these?” He took two more before she could pull the tray away.

More laughter bubbled out of her. He liked it, a lot. “It's just a standard recipe. But I like to add a little extra sugar and chocolate to mine. I think it gives them a better texture.”

“Sugar, huh?” he asked, eating another one. “Who the fuck brings cookies on their first day at a new job?”

She shrugged. “I wanted to make a good impression.”

He ate the last cookie in his hand. “These definitely make an impression. You working here in the lunchroom under Sally?” Now there was a visual. He'd done some work under Sally himself. Not the best Friday night of his life, but certainly not a bad one.

She shook her head, a little self-deprecating half smile on her face. “I'm the new Nutrition and Home Studies teacher.”

“No fuckin' kidding, Home Ec? They'll slap a fancy title on anything nowadays.” 

“Pretty much.” She moved closer to the coffee table and balanced the big tray on one hand. Then she grabbed a styrofoam cup and positioned it on the table beneath one of the carafes. That looked like a disaster-in-the-making. 

“Here,” he swiped another cookie while she was distracted. Then he reached around her with his free hand to grab the cup and hold it up under the spout of the carafe while she pumped coffee into it.

“Thanks.”

He mmhmmed around the cookie in his mouth and grabbed an empty cup for himself, moving her full cup out of the way and letting her fill his. “How you take yours?” She told him, and once she'd finished filling his cup, he fixed her coffee like she asked and handed it to her. 

She thanked him again.

He grinned and took a drink of his own coffee. “You bake food that damn good, you deserve more than a cup of shitty coffee.”

Oh, she liked it a lot that he'd complimented her cookies. She hid another of her smiles behind her coffee cup, but he hadn’t missed the way she lit the fuck up. He'd have to remember that.

“New in town?” he asked her.

“Sort of, new to this side at least.”

“How about I show you around this Friday?” He had a few specific things in mind that he'd love to show her.

“I can't.” 

Fuck. Must be hitched after all. “Busy social calendar?” 

“The librarian's having a back to school bake sale next week and asked if I'd help out.” 

“You been here--what? five minutes?--and you already got yourself roped into volunteer shit?”

“I like helping out.”

The lights blinked, signaling everyone to take a seat so Johnson and some other administration fucks could talk at them for the next two hours. 

“I better go put these with the snacks.” She indicated the cookies with a look and took a drink of her coffee. “Swing by the bake sale next week if you get a chance.”

He grabbed another cookie before she could go. “Sure thing, Sugar.” 

She threw another smile his way and scooted off.

He’d struck out with her again at the bake sale and the two other times he'd managed to catch her alone. Took the better part of a month to determine if she was with someone. She wasn't. Wasn't into chicks either. And it had cost him fifty bucks worth of nailpolish remover from the drugstore to convince the cosmetology teacher who worked next door to her to tell him for sure whether or not she was even into guys. She was. Just not him, apparently.

It wasn't that she was immune to his charm. Half the time, she flirted right back. But she kept things light, always staying just out of reach, making it clear she wasn't interested. Eventually, he'd figured that she must be holding out for the marrying kind and just left it at that. He had a good time teasing her anyway, and the treats he bought from her for his weekend dates had them shedding their panties faster than just about any line he came up with. And if she ever decided she wanted to have some real fun, she knew who to come to. He made a point of reminding her regularly, just in case she forgot. 

The little rapport they had going had been dandy until he tried to do the half-decent thing by giving her a ride home the night before the fall festival. After coming in late from a ballgame, he'd found her asleep in her classroom, head down on her desk. She'd been working her pretty ass off for days, making food that no one would appreciate for the festival. He’d woken her and seen the exhaustion written on her face. When he’d suggested taking her home, she’d easily agreed.

By the time he pulled into her drive, she was already conked out again. She was relaxed against the seat, lips parted as she breathed softly. He'd stared at her like a stupid asshole who'd never been in arm’s reach of a beautiful woman before, like one of the fumbling dipshits on his team who begged for his advice on how to talk to girls. And he was thinking about kissing her.

Fucking kissing her. Not waking her up and palming her tits or sliding his hand down into her pants. Not asking her to wrap those fucking perfect lips around his dick. Not pulling her into his lap and getting her all hot and bothered and panting for him until she begged him to come inside. No. He wanted to kiss her awake like some fucking sleeping beauty and the beast shit.

Before he really knew what he was doing, his hand had migrated to her side of the car, fingers seeking her out and skimming back and forth across her arm. Here lately, he'd been touching her more and more. A light graze here, a tap there, getting into her space anytime the opportunity presented itself. Not that she responded to that shit either. 

If she'd been one of those ice princess types, or if she'd ever put him in his place and told him to fuck off for good, he could've left it alone. But she wasn't and she didn't. Instead, she continued to indulge him, to welcome him back into her domain, even as he did his best to rile her up. Getting a rise out of her was sometimes the highlight of his day. She'd get all huffy and pink in the face and either set him straight or change the subject. Sometimes she'd try to distract him with food. That always worked. 

Fuck. He wanted her. Had wanted her for a while. But she remained just out of reach. Not right at that moment, considering he was touching her, but he knew she wasn't one of those gals he could fuck around with. 

She shifted slightly, moving a fraction closer, and her breathing pattern changed. Her eyes blinked open when he said her name. Even though he finally knew it, he didn't use it often, usually going for the nickname he'd given her instead, which seemed to both annoy and amuse her in equal measure.

He drew a spiral over her pulse point, and she stared up at him, like she knew what he wanted to do. For once, she wasn’t pulling away or laughing it off or ignoring him. He felt the odd prickling of something in the pit of his stomach. (Probably indigestion. Jesus, he was getting old.) He started to lean in. Fuck. He hadn't felt this way, hadn’t done teenage shit like this since--

He stopped himself and pulled back, settling back into his seat. Her brow wrinkled as she looked up at him, no doubt wondering what the fuck was wrong with him. He was such an asshole.

“Yeah?” she prompted.

He remembered that he'd woken her up, called her name. “You snore,” he told her. He had no fucking clue if she snored. And it pissed him off that he wanted to find out. 

He watched surprise cross her face. “I do not snore.” Her tone was a mixture of sleepy, confused, and indignant.

He could work with indignance. “I'll record it next time,” he said, leaning across her to unlatch the door. His chest brushed hers, but she remained unfazed by the touch, not arching toward him like most women, or reaching out to pull him in for a kiss like others.

Instead, she wore that cute, pink-faced, annoyed look that he liked so much as she scrambled out and told him goodnight. It made him want to pull her back inside or ask her to show him her place. But he didn't do anything except tell her he'd see her at the festival and watch her walk away.

He waited until she was inside before texting Sherry.  _ U up? _

She was.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm still alive. Just work and stuff. 
> 
> This chapter picks up in the middle of Ch. 5 (the first part of the Fall Festival) of Sugar, but I think it'll still read okay if you aren't familiar with that work.

“Johnson came by,” Ms. Mildred the librarian said when Negan stopped by her stall at the Fall Festival. Several tables surrounded her, showcasing stacks of colorful books for sale. 

“What’d that fucker want?” he asked. The mousy little library assistant, who looked twelve or thirteen but was probably grown, squeaked and pretended to arrange some books.

Ms. Mildred reached across the table and whacked Negan’s arm with a rolled up magazine. “Watch your tongue, boy.”

He chuckled. “Yes, ma’am.” He liked Mildred. She was somewhere in her late seventies, had a good heft to her, and was about as shrewd as they came. She and Negan had struck up their unlikely friendship a handful of years ago. Back then, she had been the only one who hadn't obsessively begged an update on Lucille’s condition every time he darkened a door. Mildred knew what it was like. The big C had took her old man more than a decade before. 

“The principal was asking me about a certain Home Ec teacher again,” she told him now, sipping the apple cider he’d brought her.

Negan narrowed his eyes and tightened his grip on the baseball bat he planned to use for the Pumpkin Smash. “What’s he want with her?”

“Same as you, I suspect.”

So Johnson was finally ready to get back on the horse. He’d gone through a nasty ass divorce a little over a year ago. Once upon a time, he’d coached wrestling and football and slummed it as a gym teacher with the rest of them. He’d never missed the chance to lord his teams' stats over Negan and the other coaches. Under Johnson's guidance, the football team had won State three times. The district superintendent had probably shit himself a couple years back when Johnson had slapped the administration degree on his wall and applied to be principal.

Ray Johnson was just the kind of big, tall, and smarmy, six-figure-earning asshole that most women creamed their panties to get a shot at. The marrying kind. The kind of man on paper that Sugar was probably holding out for.

“I don’t want nothing from her ‘cept some cupcakes,” Negan told Mildred.

She fixed him with a look that said she wasn’t buying what he was selling. “Lillian here’s signed up for the Pumpkin Smash too. Why don’t y’all head on over?”

He sent Ms. Mildred a dry look but jerked his head at the library assistant before starting off. She hustled up to follow him.

Last night, Negan had convinced himself that a roll or two with Sherry was all he needed to get his mind back on the right track. She’d gone down on him with gusto, red lips and hot mouth working to milk every drop he had. Kind of fucked up that he’d caught himself in the middle of it, thinking about a different set of lips and a sweeter-looking mouth. He’d pulled Sherry off and fucked her from behind before going home to his empty trailer. Chalked his lackluster reaction up to breaking his 48-Hour Rule.

“Hey, C-coach Negan,” Mildred’s assistant stammered out as she tried to keep pace with him. She was almost as high as his bicep and kept her hair in a messy orange bob; he wondered if maybe she had some comic convention to go to. “Do you need a pumpkin picker?”

He glanced at her and swung the bat in time with his strides. “I got someone else in mind, but I bet I know who does need one.” A walking, talking mountain of an asshole.

“What’s up, Coach?” Jamaal, one of his too-thin runners said as he passed.

Negan stopped and reached out to bump his fist. “Hey there, kid. You been drinking those shakes like I told you?”

“Yes, sir. My grandmama’s been trying to fatten me up.” He patted his non-existent belly. “She sent this for you.” He reached out a caramel apple that still had plastic wrap over the top.

Negan took it, pulled off the wrapper, and bit into it. “Damn, that is good. Give my compliments to your grandmama.”

Jamaal smiled real wide. “Will do, Coach.”

Negan and Mildred’s assistant arrived at the Pumpkin Smash area just in time to catch Johnson attempting to ooze his charm all over Negan's favorite baker. Johnson leaned against a sledge hammer, trying his damnedest to make up for his little ass dick, and asked her to be his pumpkin picker.

Negan went in for the save. “Sucks for you, Johnson,” he said, taking another bite of his apple. “She’s already taken.” 

She whipped around to face him. “Since when?”

“Well, Lexi was going to be my picker. But now she's covering the food stand, so you might as well take her place.” Negan’s actual date Lexi was pretty damned irate that he’d left her alone so he could go smash some fucking pumpkins. But he wasn’t about to let Johnson take his title a second year.

“I was recently told that I should say ‘no’ more often,” Sugar volleyed.

“And you're doing great. You just said 'no' to Johnson.”

“You're the one who--” she was cut off by the library assistant.

“Excuse me, err, Principal Johnson, sir? They told me you still need a picker." 

Negan kept his eyes on Sugar, who looked between him and the principal. He could just about see the wheels turning in her head. She was annoyed with him--nothing new there--but she wasn’t going to stick it to the little assistant either.

“Looks like I'm with Coach Negan,'' she finally said.

Johnson looked like he wanted to say something, but he ate it and eventually moved his ass on.

“Here,” Negan said, holding out the caramel apple and hoping it might mollify her.

“I'm not holding your food for you.” 

“Of course not. I got it for you.”

“It's half-eaten.”

“Thanks for sharing.”

She rolled her eyes, a rose blooming in her pretty cheeks that let him know he was right on that fine line of really annoying her. But she took the apple anyway, biting into it and smiling around a mouthful. 

He liked to watch her eat. Her face would take on this contemplative look, like she was analyzing every ingredient and technique that went into making the food. She liked what she had in her mouth tonight, a fact made obvious when her eyes rolled back in her head and she let out a sweet little moan. 

He leaned in. “You know, the right man could have you making that face all night.”

“And you think you're the right man?” She took another bite as if punctuating the question.

That stopped him in his tracks. She’d broken from the routine, their usual back and forth where he teased and poked and prodded and she took it all in stride until she eventually rebuffed him. She never poked back. He licked his lips and watched her for a minute. They both knew the real answer to that question. Before he could blow it off though, they were interrupted by the game's announcer.

The Pumpkin Smash got underway a few minutes later. Negan appreciated the view while Sugar ran across the field and started picking her way through the pumpkin patch.

“Heard Smith had a girl,” Johnson said beside him.

Negan noncommittally uh-huhhed. Smith was one of the football coaches, a young guy who was trying his best to fill Johnson’s Titanic-sized shoes with the football team. Negan had filled in for him at an away game the night before so Smith could be with his wife for the birth.

“I was thinking about putting a cookout together in a few weeks to celebrate.”

“Have fun with that,” Negan told him. Sugar had finally found a fat pumpkin and was hefting it back across the field to him.

“Thought you might want to join us, you know, like old times.”

Negan huffed. Fuck “old times.” He wasn’t that guy anymore. Johnson was barking up the wrong tree. “I’ll be busy,” he said.

“Got a date?” Johnson asked.

“Always do.”

“You could bring her with you.”

The thought brought to mind the memory of Lucille--pale, bald, and rail thin--complaining about getting stuck bringing seven-layer dip to the annual Super Bowl party again. Johnson’s wife Jeanie was always careful to assign her something that she couldn’t burn. Negan had usually tried to get Lucille to take store bought food anyway, but his wife had been pretty fucking strong willed. Since she’d passed, he’d spent years shirking his way out of the various gatherings for the “athletic family” as Johnson had termed them.

When Jeanie had finally left Johnson (he'd been the last one to see the writing on the wall), Negan had hoped that meant the parties were finally over and Johnson might leave him in peace. Apparently he still hadn’t received the message. Was Negan about to drag one of his dates to a cookout with old friends? “Not fuckin’ likely,” he said.

Just as he turned Johnson down again, Sugar dropped the first pumpkin on the mat in front of him. Negan raised his bat and started whaling on the worthless vegetable. Felt damn good to take his aggression out. “What're you waiting for?” he asked her as pumpkin guts splattered on both of them. “Go get me another one!”

She ran off. 

Negan slammed his bat into the pile of guts two more times for good measure before he looked back up to see Johnson’s partner Lillian attempting to roll a pumpkin about as tall as she was across the field. Negan laughed.

Sometime later, Johnson said, “There's been a lot of talk about you around the school here lately.”

Negan had already obliterated six pumpkins in the time it had taken Lillian to struggle halfway across the field with the humongous pumpkin. He leaned against the bat, eyes on Sugar as she tip-toed through the patch and looked for another big, fat pumpkin that met his specifications. She bent down to pick one, allowing him to appreciate a clear view of her ass. He preferred the close up version, but even from afar, it was a nice sight. 

Beside him, Johnson cleared his throat like he'd said something important and expected a reply.

Negan looked over to find a serious expression on the principal's face. “Don't hem and haw,” he told Johnson. “You got something to say to me, just say it.”

“Alright man, here it is.” He turned his refrigerator-sized body to fully face Negan. “I get that you're still working through your shit. But it's been four years since we lost Lucille.”

“Who the fuck is ‘we’?”

“She was my friend too, asshole. And Jeanie's.” Negan didn't miss the way Johnson stuttered over his ex wife's name. “You're not the only one who misses her.”

“We having some sort of counseling session here? You going to help me work through my shit?”

“Look, brother, I'm not trying to--”

“How about you cut the bullshit, Ray?”

Johnson rubbed the back of his fat neck, a tell he'd never managed to drop. “You want to sow your wild oats instead of dealing with the mess you got inside? I don't have a problem with it.” He lifted the sledge hammer and let the head smack down against the tarp on the ground beside him. “What I got a problem with is you screwing a different employee of mine every week and leaving half of them a mess. Not to mention two of them just about ransacked the lounge over a box of cupcakes you left.”

Negan smirked, still entertained by the image of a couple of hot gals rolling around in chocolate frosting, fighting over him.

“Wipe that look off your face. I'm serious. You gotta stop fucking around with the women at work.”

“Why don’t you worry about--?”

A shriek cut off what Negan was saying, and he and Johnson looked up to see that their partners, now only a few feet away, had somehow collided and were on the ground with their pumpkins.

Johnson had already taken a step to run to the rescue, but Negan leaned forward and blocked him with the bat. “You planning to forfeit?” The rules specified that the smashers couldn’t step past their tarps.

Johnson raised an eyebrow but stepped back.

“They’re big girls. They can get up all by themselves.”

Johnson’s partner recovered first, practically crawling over Sugar to scramble to her feet and get back to the huge pumpkin. But a second later, Sugar rolled over and stood. She rubbed her head for a moment but finally picked up the pumpkin she’d previously been carrying and started back his way.

“Atta girl,” Negan said when she finally reached him.

She looked between him and Johnson, who ought to be more concerned with his own partner, and her face broke out into a blush. She’d always been nervous around the big guy, like she actually had him to thank for her job. 

“Nothing keeps your pretty little ass down,” Negan told her.

She grinned back at him, but he noticed her eyes were shining like she was either more hurt or embarrassed than she was willing to let on. When she turned to head back across the field, he swatted her ass. She gasped and giggled back, like it was something she was used to him doing. He couldn’t help but stare after her for a long minute.

“Something going on between you two?” Johnson asked from beside him.

Negan dropped his eyes and laughed. “Nah, she doesn't fuck around with assholes like me.” He raised his bat and swung it down at the awaiting pumpkin.

“Good. I've been thinking about trying my luck with her.”

Fucking Johnson. Negan whacked the pumpkin again, spraying innards across the tarp. “She doesn't fuck around with assholes like you either.” 

Johnson chuckled. “She might make an exception. I've been known to turn a head or two.”

“Ain't there some district rule against you screwing someone who works under you?”

“You might have a point.”

Negan turned back to watch the subject of their conversation lumber back over to him, carrying another perfectly fat pumpkin. She dropped it in front of him and turned to run for another one without pause. He glanced at Johnson, who was watching them both acutely. Too bad it wasn't a head smashing tournament. 

“Woman like that,” Johnson said, “might be worth breaking the rules for.”

Negan slammed his bat down into the pumpkin guts again and was thankful when Lillian finally managed to roll the massive pumpkin onto Johnson’s tarp. Maybe that would keep him busy for a while.

The Smash was over a few minutes later, and Sugar stood beside Negan, panting. “That was the most intense five minutes of my life,” she said.

Now was as good a time as any for a come on. She’d just shoot him down anyway. “If you’d take me up on that offer to show you a good time, you’d find out how fucking intense five minutes can be,” he said.

She looked at him, mirth sparkling in her eyes, and shook her head. Negan had never felt a thrill from a woman’s rejection, but there was a first time for everything. Hell, his head was probably just fucked up from Johnson chewing his ear off like a schoolgirl.

He noticed Sugar looked damn good tonight, managing to pull off more sparkles and liner than he was used to her wearing. He was glad her friend the cosmetology teacher hadn’t gone too overboard on her makeup. She wore her hair down, a sight he hardly ever got to see since she kept it pulled back at work. And her pink sweater was loose but hinted enough at the curves he so enjoyed looking at. He wondered what the gloss on her lips tasted like.

“Good look for you,” he told her when he thought she caught him staring.

She rewarded him with another blush and one of those cute little smiles of hers that he liked so much. “Thanks,” she said.

“Real Barbarella goes mud wrestling.” Christ,  _ Barbarella _ ? That probably made him sound old as Methuselah. When would he learn to shut his fucking mouth? 

Her face fell in response, and she looked down at her outfit, taking in the huge smudge across her midsection and the grass and dirt stains on her pants. Looked like she even had a tear along the thigh of her jeans. She reached up and scrubbed a hand through her hair, shaking loose clumps of dirt. And then she really threw him for a loop when she said, “Motherfucker.”

He’d always thought her too vanilla to let an expletive slip past her lips. He grinned and stepped into her space, throwing her words from earlier in the night back at her. "You do realize there are children around, right?"

She glared.

He laughed at her. "Here." He pressed the bat into her hand and reached his hands up to run his fingers through her hair. It was a stupidly intimate thing to do, but he’d look even more like an asshole if he stopped now that he’d started. He shook out dirt and grass and loosened a few tangles. It’d been a long time since he’d done something like this, really touched someone for this long without expecting something in return. But fuck, it was just Sugar. She wouldn’t think anything of it.

She tilted her head, leaning into his touch and swaying just an inch or two closer.

Well, shit. 

He cleared his throat, and she met his eyes. “Probably as good as you'll get without a shower,” he said.

She nodded and shoved his bat back into his hand so that she could finish fixing herself. She looked pretty upset about the state of her clothes.

“You could always strip ‘em off,” he said, hoping to get a laugh out of her. “Not too many who would mind seeing you in your skivvies. You wearing those polka dots today?” He’d loved the little glimpse of undies he’d gotten through her worn tights a couple weeks ago. Polka dots were one of those sweet things that he now associated with her.

She blushed, and he knew he’d hit the nail on the head.

“Jesus. That was a shot in the fucking dark.” He stepped closer and wet his lips. "You know, I--"

“Hey, Negan,” Lexi said breathily as she jogged up, “it took forever, but I finally found someone to cover…” She trailed off as she took in how close he was standing to Sugar.

He ought to have been putting the moves on Lexi instead of bothering with the Pumpkin Smash, but he’d let himself get carried away again. At this rate, it was going to be him and his fist tonight.

Lexi wrapped a hand around his upper arm and then looped her arm through his. “Did you have some kind of tussle with the Mud Man or something?” she asked Sugar.

Then again, maybe his hand was the safer bet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Seriously, thanks for reading.


End file.
